


Fireteam

by Krakatau



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Multi, NaNoWriMo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5125256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krakatau/pseuds/Krakatau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Totally trying to convince Bungie they need to expand the Destiny universe to other mediums by writing down the adventures of a haphazard fireteam; comprised of a stereotypical stoic Titan, a morally ambiguous Hunter, and a knowledge-obsessed Warlock, nothing is as it seems and sometimes the people you trust the least are the only ones you can count on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1.1 Revival. Dimoæna.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my NaNoWriMo2015 endeavor, which I will be attempting to write and post as daily chapters, each following a member of a dysfunctional fireteam. Since it is NaNoWriMo, it might get pretty rough at times, and expect a lot of bullshitting on the world details, but hopefully overall it will make sense and be a fun ride.

Every Guardian’s story begins with their Ghost.

They spread out from the Traveler, tiny slivers of light encased in an almost prismatic shell to protect them from the minions of the Darkness that would devour them. They scour the Earth and her Moon, and venture out to Mars and Venus and as far as they can go; wherever they might find their destined Guardian. Each were inextricably linked to an individual who would be able to wield the Ghost’s light as a weapon against the Darkness. Soldiers turned to Titans. Scouts into Hunters. Intellectuals into Warlocks. Each Ghost and Guardian pair yielding a greater power than they had known prior to the Traveler’s downfall.

Some found their Guardians right away, felled within the very shadow of the Traveler. Some are still rumored to be searching.

One little Ghost had searched tirelessly for fifteen years. She had begun at the nearest battlefield - since she held a deep suspicion that her Guardian would have fallen in the glory of the fight - and meticulously scanned every biological remain that she could find. Only once she could ensure the space was exhausted did she move on to the next. So passed the first fifteen years of her life, until finally she found that one being; that singular armored body heaped in a pile of others that reacted to her scan, tripped her sensors, and told her she had finally found her Guardian.

She went to work, her tiny peaks spreading out from her spherical body as she imbued her light into the corpse. It was quick work, if exhausting, knitting back and reforming biological matter into a living, breathing being once again. She had little idea who this was, but as the skeletal and circulatory and muscular system started to take form she got a better idea; human, female, tall, muscular, late thirties, previous traumatic wound to her right hip, metal plates, killing blow was blunt force trauma to her back, severed spinal cord, extra work there. Since she could reconstruct the hip injury, she moved the matter of the metal plate to reinforce the spinal injury. 

“It’s time to wake up, Guardian.”

The Guardian heard the words about the same time she registered what words were. She blinked her eyes open, looking up at the Ghost upside down. It was an interesting progression of thought; an understanding of existence with little idea where or how it had occurred. She was slow to move, putting one hand in front of her face to flex the stiff fingers, realizing the rest of her was immobile under the press of … something. She looked. Bodies. Armored, similar, some different, a funeral pyre?

“I am sorry to have revived you in such an environment but I had little choice. You should be able to remove yourself.” The Ghost had confidence in her abilities, that in reviving her Guardian she’d given her at least the strength to pull herself free. A full use of her powers would come with practice and experience, but right now she at the very least should be at her peak for a normal human condition.

The Guardian braced her arm against one of the dead atop her, and pulled her other arm free, then continued to push and struggle until she had fully extricated herself. She stood slowly, feeling the stretch and pull of new muscles, giving her shoulders a roll, making tight fists and letting them go, feeling what it was to be alive again. For the moment she had little understanding outside of it.

“You have been dead for fifteen years, so let me explain. I’m your Ghost. I have revived you. We are in need of warriors to fight back the Darkness, and with my Light you will have a powerful weapon with which to do so.”

The Guardian watched the little floating ball, the visor on her helmet expressionless, but since Ghost was now a part of her, she felt the confusion through their new connection. She allowed herself to dematerialize, letting herself and her essence fully sink into the Guardian. There was a start; a moment where the Guardian’s fists tightened and her heart rate spiked. She didn’t understand it, yet, and Ghost couldn’t blame her.

“I’m with you, Guardian, and I will always be with you from now on. There is no reason to fear.” She did her best to calm the Guardian. She’d seen other Ghosts revive their Guardians; had seen many other scenes like this play out. Each Guardian was an individual, and the general feelings she was getting from this one were of an instinctual alertness, of sadness when she faced the pile of fallen comrades (although laced with confusion … the Ghost was aware that the revival did not always bring with it memories), of an overlaying stoicism that she tried to wrest these emotions into order. “We’re safe for the moment, but I can’t guarantee that it’s going to stay as such for very long.”

There was an agreeing grunt - as far as the Ghost could interpret it - from the Guardian, and she stooped to collect weapons from her comrades and check them for ammunition before pushing on. A shotgun slung over her shoulder, and an auto rifle at the ready, held by an instinct that prevailed though the memory of training was as lost as anything else. She jogged away from the grisly sight and found them cover in the nearby ruins of an ancient cathedral. Age old walls rose above them, ceilings open to the sun as it climbed high towards midday, large bricks and flagstones blocking the paths and requiring her to scramble one-handed over them. 

“Dimoæna.” The Guardian said, after a stretch. They were nearing the end of the ruins and looking out over a meadow, with lush rolling hills and forests rising up and among battered skyscrapers in the distance.

“I’m sorry?” The Ghost replied, materializing at her Guardian’s shoulder.

“I remember my name is Dimoæna.”

“Oh. Dimoæna. It is nice to formally meet you.” She turned her glowing screen out towards the horizon and tried to assess the threats versus possible supplies that might wait for them.

“Do you have a name?”

“I am simply Ghost.”

Dimoæna gave a grunt, turning her visor from the Ghost to look out over the meadow and forest and city as well. “Will you take a name?”

The Ghost looked back at Dimoæna in confusion. She hadn’t entertained the thought of bearing a name other than the title she’d been born with, but her understanding of other Guardian and Ghost relations, she couldn’t say she was necessarily surprised. “If you would give me one, I would bear it.”

“Rosha.”

The Ghost’s points expanded and spun as she tipped herself in thought. “I like it. From _cymbopogon martinii_ , right?”

“I don’t know why, but you make me think of it.”

“The world is oft confusing and we know not where its threads protrude and where they might lead us.”

“Well, Rosha. Which thread shall we follow now?”

“I suggest into the city, but we must remain alert. We are not likely the only ones seeking supplies and shelter, and that is the best place for it.”

Rosha let herself fade back into Dimoæna, and the Guardian took off across the meadows at a gentle sprint. She could go faster, Rosha could feel her holding back, but while they were both alert, there was not yet any reason to rush; danger was a whispered rumor they both understood and yet saw no trace of.

At least until they entered the city proper. They had passed old remnants of traps and tents within the forest, but these had all been abandoned to rot and decay for one reason or another. The city, though, held more relevant signs of activity; recent footprints, traps set for animal quarry and fresh signs of such successes. 

“We need to locate transportation; a spaceport, or shipyard.” Rosha said, materializing and scanning some dried blood. “These are a few days old, no telling how close their hosts might be.”

They continued deeper into the city, looking for any sort of signage that could lead them towards a desired sector. It was midday when they finally found directions and changed their course accordingly. 

It wasn’t long after that when they heard the sounds that indicated they were not, in fact, alone.

Neither registered surprise, but there was a heightening of awareness. Dimoæna melted into the shadows and held her rifle a little higher. Rosha took over the old armor systems and was able to establish connection with the motion tracker. 

“You’ll need much better gear at some point, but this should do for now.”

Dimoæna grunted, and pushed on. Red played on the edge of her tracker, a shadow flitted just beyond her peripheral vision. She heard more than saw evidence of someone - or something - else out there. They were definitely being tracked.

She whispered to her Ghost. “If they wanted me dead right now, they would have already shot me. We need to confront it.”

“Not necessarily. We could ignore it and pass peacefully through its territory without upsetting it further. As long as its not blocking us from the port -- look out!”

The red edge of the motion tracker had immediately filled up as that which had originally lurked on the outskirts literally flung itself at them. The warning - as quick as Rosha could give it - was just barely enough time for Dimoæna to pivot and snap the butt of her rifle up, catching her attacker and sending it sideways. There were a burst of fire energy as a Sol grenade landed at their feet, causing Dimoæna to react with evasive maneuvers and leap away before the flare could catch her.

She landed in a crouch, auto rifle raised as she scanned the area. Her motion tracker remained dark. Whoever had attacked them had fled for the moment.

“Sol energy. A Hunter, or a Warlock. Leagues ahead of us. We won’t win this engagement.” Rosha was being pragmatic; as a new Guardian, Dimoæna had not yet unlocked any of her powers. It was more prudent to run from this fight then try to best it; they were ill-prepared. 

“What do you mean?”

“Another Guardian. A more seasoned Guardian. I don’t know why they would have attacked us.”

“This is unnatural even to your understanding?”

“Yes, it is.” 

After a moment, Dimoæna stood, and held her rifle down by her side. “Reveal yourself, Guardian. We call for a cease fire and discussion. We mean no harm.”

Rosha didn’t at all agree with her Guardian’s plan of action, though there was little else she could do to deter it. She materialized by Dimoæna’s shoulder, and cowered behind it, facets twitching this way and that as she glanced out into the ruined city. 

“I would definitely rate this on a list of things I would not ever advise.”


	2. Chapter 1.2 Revival. Ekseline.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing the emo-est of Guardian/Ghost pairings.

The only sound in the ruins besides the rustle of leaves in the wind and the song of crickets and frogs was one deep-suffering, robotic-flanged sigh from a Ghost, little points drooped in dismay as he looked to the corpse that had finally called to him.

“This is going to take a lot of work.”

The former-rogue was strewn upside down over a stone wall, back snapped cleanly in two and at this point, only his armor was holding him together. Besides the ravages of time and natural decay, the Ghost was going to have to entirely reconstruct the midsection and try to reinforce it for the Revival. The Ghost gave another moment to reflect over the travesty that his so far short life had been, let out a stronger sigh to help steel himself, and then expanded his peaks and let his Light flow through to the rogue to begin the reconstruction.

It was mightily difficult work. He’d had to start with the existing remnants of biological matter, using his Light to add to it and reform it into a human male - he wasn’t even good looking, from what the Ghost could tell. 40's, gaunt, lean but in an almost spindly way. Once that was complete, he had to work at shifting the halves and fixing them back together, reconstructing the thoraco-lumbar fascia and obliques and most of the major internal organs, trying to cinch it together until the body shifted weight and slid off the wall entirely, landing in a heap at the base. The Ghost sighed again and paused his work to rest. He cursed his existence that this was his the Guardian he’d been paired with, instead of one who had passed peacefully leaning against a tree in some wildflower carpeted meadow.

At least it wasn’t raining.

Finally, he finished, and floated back to look at his work. Visually it wasn’t anything to write home about; the Guardian was still in a tangled pile where he had landed, although all of the scans and final diagnostics Ghost ran had came up in the clear. 

“Okay, Guardian.”

There was no reply. There was a heartbeat now, there was a pulse, and he could register spikes of brain activity, but so far the body hadn’t flinched.

“ _Okay_ , Guardian.” He said with a little more emphasis.

There was another moment without response, and just when he was about to try a third time, the Guardian gave a long, low grunt and started to move.

“Finally. It’s as if you wanted to stay dead. Not entirely sure I don’t blame you, but we’ve got work to do. Come on, up; up.”

He floated from one side to the other, making last minute scans and corrections. The Guardian pulled himself into a sitting position with his back against the wall and then clawed his helmet off. He dropped it at his side, looking over to at the Ghost with a sneering frown that made his gaunt, rat-like face even uglier. His hair was an absolute mess and hung in tangled, greasy ropes, still formed tight against his skull from the press of the helmet. Ghost hadn’t been able to do anything about that.

“Oh don’t look at me like that. You think this was fun for me either?”

The Guardian grunted and diverted his gaze to look around him. Evening was coming on and the Ghost would have to activate his flashlight shortly if they were to get out of here.

“I remember --”

“Oh, right; I’m sure you do. Whether or not it actually fits within any sensible timeline is probably up for debate. We can talk about that later. Now; we need to leave.”

The Guardian scowled back at the Ghost. “Who’re you?”

“I’m your Ghost. Listen to me, and you won’t die. Die, and I’ll bring you back. Again. So I suggest you just listen to me the first time and things’ll go a lot smoother for the both of us.”

The Guardian grunted and stood, then patted himself down. “I am missing -- something.”

 _Ah, fantastic._ Ghost thought to himself, _he remembers generalities but not specifics. ___“Weapons, most likely. They’re gone. Probably looted the moment you broke your back, which I fixed, by the way, thank you very little for throwing yourself from the thirteenth floor or wherever.”

“Why?”

“Evil bad guys who want your blood. They’re nearby. I suggest we move.” Ghost turned to look into the growing shadows, left then right, and then back at the Guardian. “I didn’t revive you to watch you die again, you know.”

With a grumble, the Guardian drops his search for weapons and follows as the Ghost leads him through the ruins. It’s hard to see the details of their environment in the dimming light, but he’s getting a sense of being small and inconsequential in the greater scheme of things. The sprawling galaxy visible in the night sky above them doesn’t help. 

 

 _Ten years later,_ he returns to the scene.

 

His Ghost, who he’s continued to simply call Ghost, had deemed it a bad idea. Although The Guardian - a Hunter, eventually taking the name Ekseline - had excelled and trained and and improved his skills as both a Bladedancer and a Gunslinger, Ghost had been aware of the constantly moving powers this area held; it would always be dangerous. Stopping to see if Ekseline had maybe dropped a trinket or two before his first death seemed superfluous at best and dangerous at worst.

But here they find themselves. Ghost hovers in the air, prudently looking this way and that in high alert while Ekseline scours over the ground.

“Found anything yet?”

“No.”

“Then can we leave?”

“ _No._ ”

“You’ve been here for two hours. If there was anything left to find, I’m sure you would have found it by now.”

“Two hours for ten years of abandonment? I haven’t even scratched the surface.”

“Fifteen, if you count the first five it took me to find you. I have no idea exactly when you died; could have been longer.” It’s a bit of a bluff; he had a fairly good idea on when Ekseline had originally passed given the state of his decay.

“Fifteen then. I’ll stay until I am convinced.”

Ghost brought his attention back to the Guardian, floating over his shoulder and watching his movements.

“What are you looking for?”

“I’ll know it when I see it.”

“ _You don’t even know?_ ”

“I’ve got a feeling; it’s here!” Ekseline hissed back at the Ghost, and in the quiet, tense moment that followed they both heard a noise.

“Oh good, we’re not alone. Hide before they find you and make this your _final_ final resting place.”

“Stop worrying.” He stood and hopped the fence, pulling himself up onto a balcony and crouching low, using his Light to cloak himself against the ruin of the building behind him. His Ghost dematerliazied despite not quite agreeing with his actions; he was still too out in the open, his invisibility wasn’t flawless if someone knew to look for it, there were, in his mind, just too many variables. But, he’d only make it worse if he was visible, so for the moment he let himself disappear back within the essence of Ekseline.

Eventually, the sounds grew louder and more consistent; footsteps. Talking. Definitely not Fallen or Hive. Then, a Guardian and a Ghost came into view. Ekseline could see that she was fairly recently revived; her attire was tattered and old, and even at a glance he knew it wasn’t going to hold up to much. Which meant pretty solidly that neither would she.

Then, he saw her face, and heard her speak, and although there were no immediate moments of recollection that spurred him to do so, there was a deep, instinctive loathing; a certain familiarity to her voice and her visage. With a primal yell he catapulted from the balcony and dove straight at her. By sheer luck she dodged and rebuked with her firearm (which he had entirely forgotten to take account for). He dropped a grenade and rolled away, climbing back into the ruins for cover and to find a better vantage point. There was no logic to his attacks, but a deep and bubbling intent that seemed to roar over the protestations of his Ghost.


	3. Chapter 1.3 Revival. Daniel.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then there were three. Or six, rather.

The record for the quickest Ghost to Guardian pairing is held at two hours, which is as long as it took the Ghost to descend from the Traveler into the tower and locate the Commander he would be paired with for the rest of their lives. The Commander was still very much alive, and very much surprised by the developments.

It took Roman five days. 

There is no hard fast rule about how the Ghosts locate their Guardians; why some take little time at all and why some still wander the Earth and her sister planets, wondering if they’re to be condemned to a lifetime of solitude. Five days after the Collapse, after the Traveler fell silent and spilled his life blood in the form of the Ghosts, a Ghost self-named Roman was pointedly zooming in on his Guardian.

He would say he had a sense of it; he just _knew_ what direction to go in, he just _knew_ what battlefields and graveyards to pass over. He would say he knew two things; his Guardian was deceased, and he was in the East. He didn’t appreciate jokes about the fact that they rhymed.

It was raining when he finally found him; a mild storm had rolled in and rain pattered down on sad, broken trees and still-smoking ruins. Mists rose from ground too-hot with the recent firefights and cruel engagements it had born witness to. Through this ephemeral, imprecise environment, the Ghost slowed his approach and took a more conscientious look at his surroundings. Bright blue-white lights cut through the fog as he scanned bodies for the one that now seemed to pulse throughout his systems, as if pulling his light towards it rather than a game of hide and seek.

It brought him to a small forest, miraculously still standing in the ruins of battle, near to a crumbling city center. The sound of buildings groaning echoed deep and low on the wind, that even though the Ghost found himself surrounded by tall, timeless beings of wood and life - standing reminders of the timelessness and ultimate superiority of nature against anything man, beast, or otherwise could hope to construct - he was reminded of the surety of the war that still raged on. 

His search brought him … up? It was the first time he had any doubt about his purpose in life, about where he’d been going so surely in this, the first week of his life. He looked up, and his confusion gave way to an understanding and a perplexity. 

A line of broken twigs and branches, dotted with drying blood, lead the trail to his Guardian’s resting place; with his mortal wound, he had scaled a tree and settled himself in the crook of branches so he could pass peacefully above the turmoil. 

Roman floated up and looked at the form, the hanging corner of a robe gently wafting in the breeze, his helmet tucked against his lap, his head cocked ever so slightly to the side as if he were merely napping. It was the dark stain of blood that blossomed from his midsection that spoke to anything less than serene.

Upon instinct, the Ghost turned so that he was looking out to where his Guardian would be when he passed; the clouds were breaking and the sun shone through, glittering upon the wet leaves and some sliver of piercing white in the distance of a river, cutting through the forest and disappearing under the silhouetted remains of bridge supports into the city.

For his short life it was one of the most beautiful things Roman had ever seen. 

In time, once the rain had lessened and gave up entirely, he turned to the task of revival. It was simple; reconstruct the wound, touch up some of the early decay, and submit the Light to its new owner.

“Good afternoon, Guardian.”

his shuttered optics slid open, he tipped his head up, looking at Roman, and then took stock of his situation. The fact that he was up in a tree seemed to give him pause, and Roman watched in interest as the Exo tried to shift to a more secure position. In the process, it seemed he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his helmet, and it slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground, bouncing off of each branch with a metallic clank and the sound of the visor cracking. He winced.

“Don’t worry about that; we’ll get you another one. A better one. Just focus on getting down.”

“How did I get up?”

Roman tipped his peaks sideways, curious. “You don’t remember?”

The Exo shook his head. His blue optics contrasted with the red facepainting, splashed with a streak of orange and gave him a curious look; had they been any other color he would have been downright intimidating, but the soft blue seemed to speak of a softer soul.

Roman found this irritated him.

“I don’t remember … anything.” He admitted. He paused in thought, as if really digging deep into his system and trying to suss out any detail he could. “Oh, no, I know. I’m Daniel.”

“It is nice to meet you, Daniel; you can call me Roman.” As much as he’d like to help Daniel continue to remember bits of his life, they were still far up in a tree, and there was still a war going on and a city falling apart behind them. “Shall we get down from here and continue this conversation on the ground?”

Daniel nodded. “That sounds reasonable.” He gathered his robes and carefully descended, halfway between relying on a muscle memory he didn’t know he had and yet maintaining a certain uncertainty about where he’d find his next foothold. Eventually, though, his feet touched down on the carpet of undergrowth. He brushed out his robes with care and hunted down his helmet, giving it a quick inspection before realizing it was beyond hope - even just until he could find a new one.

“Lets walk and talk/” He said to Roman. He turned and started to head off, then stopped and looked back. “Where are we going?”

“We need to return to the Tower, and to do that we will need a ship. Do you know where you parked yours?”

Daniel looked at him with a blank expression.

“Silly me, forget I asked. We’ll find one in the city; there’s a spaceport on the west end.”

Roman lead the way, and Daniel fell in line behind him.

“So, what’s the story, then?”

“The story is not a happy one, I’m afraid. If you don’t remember anything, I’ll try to be as basic as I can, but feel free to ask me to expand on anything. I was born when the Traveler died; I am made of his Light, and I have been searching for you to wield it.”

“Wield it?”

“Yes, as a weapon. Not everyone is capable of doing so; that’s why I had to find you, you see.”

Daniel gave him a thoughtful sound, and slipped his hands into his robe pockets to think. His attention was momentarily wrested away by the feeling of a small notebook, and he took it out and looked it over as Roman continued to chatter on about what all had happened in the past five days. 

His notebook might actually hold something more relevant. He flipped it open and looked at the drawings and the notations and observations jotted down in a neat uppercase. There was no doubting this was his, but his notations seemed to exist more to trip his memory than actually inform; it made very little sense to him now. He flipped through it, and found there was a pocket on the back cover. In it was stowed a necklace, and he stopped walking to take it out and turn it over in his hands. It was a round blue disc with intricate silver filigree edging that held it on a fine silver chain. on the back of the stone was carved _Family First. Family Always_.

“Did you hear a word I’ve been saying?” Roman finally realized the Exo wasn’t exactly with him, and turned to do a neat circle about his shoulder and peer at the necklace in his hand.

“Do you have any idea what this could mean?”

Roman scanned it, and tipped himself back and forth. “No, I don’t. It’s a pretty ordinary piece of jewelry; I can’t detect any devices or wiring or anything that might make it more than sentimental.”

Daniel grunted, took another look at it, and tucked it back in the notebook, and tucked the notebook back in his pocket. “A mystery for another day, I suppose.”

“Yes, let’s focus on the mystery right now; _where to find a ship_.”

The quiet afternoon wore on without incident, until there was an event in the sky; like the meeting of two galaxies, almost; Daniel wasn’t entirely sure how to describe it, but something was happening miles above the surface. He stopped dead in his tracks to watch, and Roman floated slowly backwards with realization.

“A Ketch. If we’re lucky it’ll just pass us by.”

“Ketch?”

“A Ketch. A Fallen Ketch. Oh come now you don’t remember _that?_ ”

“Vaguely. Skiffs?”

“Yes; Ketches bring Skiffs. Good lord it wasn’t your intelligence core that was damaged, why are you do _dumb._ ” 

Roman floated up to watch, trying to catch the accompanying skiffs as they dropped into atmosphere and determine if any were going to be close enough to be a threat.

“I’m not _dumb_ ” Daniel countered, for a moment more offended by the insult than worried about a possible firefight. “I was _dead._ I can’t help what I can or cannot remember, and you -- are you even listening to me?”

Roman suddenly turned and zoomed back to Daniel, demateralizing at the last moment to sink into his Guardian’s essence. Daniel balked, taking a step back as the Ghost disappeared into thin air.

“Run! _Hide!_ There’s one just ahead, we’re about to get company.”

That Daniel understood perfectly clear. He turned on his heel and jogged back to where he’d seen a low stone wall. Before he could reach it, though, there was a booming roar and a white-hot streak of energy shot past him and obliterated his intended hiding covey.

“ _Keep moving!_ ” Ghost advised him, internally, an odd feeling but one Daniel couldn’t afford to stop and muse on. He made a hard right, stumbled, pushed himself back up, and sprinted into the city ruins. The Skiff settled ahead of them, taking advantage of enough open space in an intersection to pause long enough to drop down a handful of dregs and a vandal. Again, Daniel staggered to a stop and turned again, like a rabbit trying to outrun a fox, and darted down the nearest alley.

Roman was doing his best to keep the diagnostics running, but without a helmet and a motion tracker, they were both fairly in the dark.

“Fence, hop it; there’s a side street that should give us access to the subway system. It’s a maze down there.”

“Not sure if that’s a good thing.” Daniel huffed. He clambered over the fence, and on Roman’s directions took a right and then attempted to dodge down another alley to the left. He was jerked back as a hand grabbed onto the collar of his robe, and he heard the triumphant and bone-chilling cheer of a Vandal before the muzzle of its rifle was sticking into his side. He moved, an instinctual motion pulling out of his robe and turning, using the Vandal’s hold of it to yank him hard down as he brought his knee up. There was a sickening and painful _crack_ as he connected with the Vandal’s head, and while the enemy staggered down and tangled up in his robe, Daniel let go and sprinted down the alley. He ignored the white-hot shocks of pain from his knee for now; it wasn’t enough to keep him from running.

“Good, _good._ Keep going. _Just lose them._ ” Roman urged.

Daniel could hear the enraged Dregs and the remaining Vandal, the percussion of their weapons as they fired after him, and felt the dusting of building debris as they hit close. A wire rifle shot grazed his cheek, leaving a black mark along the facial plating. Daniel rounded the corner, found the subway, and had practically thrown himself down the stairs when he stopped cold.

“What is it? Why are you stopping -- _now is not the time for stopping._ ”

“My robe, the notebook … _the necklace!_ ” He started to turn around to backtrack, but Roman materialized infront of his face and nearly caused a collision.

“You have to forget about them. Those Fallen will _tear you alive_ , you’re not ready for a confrontation yet!”

“But --”

“You didn’t even know the meaning! They held no actual significance to you, now, right? _Right?_ ”

“ _They’re all I have._ ”

“They’re not worth losing your life and trust me; you _will_ lose it. And I can’t guarantee they’ll let me bring you back.”

Daniel started to protest again, but the sounds of the Fallen entering the subway, their echoes growing and bouncing off of the walls, seemed to drive down Roman’s words. The Exo cursed, glared at Roman, and then turned and disappeared down one of the dark tunnels.

“We’re coming back.”

“Not for a while, we aren’t.”

 

It took them _fifteen years_ to get back, and even then it was against Roman’s counsel. He thought it was a fruitless endeavor, that even if he found the robe with everything intact (unlikely), no amount of staring at it would bring any deeper significance. 

He may be learned now, he may be an equal match for any Fallen he did happen to cross, but in the grand scheme of the war, this was what Roman considered nothing more than frivolity. 

Finding just where Daniel had lost the robe would be difficult; it was hard enough locating the general area, after fifteen years of growth. Roman was scanning certain structures that looked familiar and running them against stored memories, but in a rather half-assed manner. 

“I still do not understand why you persist.”

“I’m not going to give up hope. That necklace _meant_ something. I’m not about to give up on it … give up on the family I had.”

“You can’t even remember any of them! There’s no shame in giving up on something you can’t even remember …”

“We’ve been over this before, Roman. I--”

“Stop.”

“What _now._ ”

“We’re not alone.”

Daniel huffed and looked at the motion tracker displayed on the inside of his visor. Just as Roman had said, it hadn’t taken him long to find a new helmet, and to continue to upgrade to something this nice. There was a flicker of red at the edge of the tracker, and for the moment it was enough to divert his attention (not that he would ever forget why they were there in the first palce).

“We’re being stalked.”

“That we are. What say we stalk the stalker?”

Daniel continued to search, every time his saw that flash of red on his visor shifting himself towards it slightly. _Casually_ The moment of confrontation came by sheer luck, however, when a grenade went off elsewhere - nearby, possibly the next street over - and Daniel was able to cross the street in a couple bounds and round the corner in time to grab his stalker.

“Gotcha, you four-armed _weasel_.”


End file.
